


Fight or Flight

by catherine_zeta_jones



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alternate Universe - High School, But He Gets Better, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drugs, Fight Clubs, Highschool AU, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Illness, Minor Character Death, Mobs, Not Canon Compliant, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Queens, References to Revenge Porn, Swearing, Teenage!SpiderMan, Temporary Character Death, again its all deadpool, age appropriate spideypool, and spiderman really sucks at his job, but still, disassosiation, fetal pig science experiment, highschool, its all deadpool, its just a goon tbh, its really brief and then wade punches the guy, let me know if i forgot anything!, not fuck the other one, peter wears makeup, reckless use of highschool science equipment, teenage!deadpool, wade punches a lot of people, we dont say the f-word here, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-10 03:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15282894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherine_zeta_jones/pseuds/catherine_zeta_jones
Summary: Wade ended up in the weapon x program because he was institutionalized for a mental break he had at 16. The program he was sent to wasn’t legit and was actually illegal testing on people w mental illnesses. He can heal from anything but it always leaves a scar. He eventually broke out, burned the place down, and came back to take care of his foster mom, Blind Al. He started doing street fights and “soft hits” for money. He’s starting to get in over his head.Peter lives with his Aunt May and got bit by the spider when he was 15.  He’s been patrolling a little and perfecting his web serum but frankly he kinda sucks at it and keeps getting the shit kicked out of him and falling off stuff. Somebody needs to teach him how to fight…It’s been a year and Wade is back in Queens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic! yikes! I'll put content warnings at the beginning of each chapter! please let me know if i haven't tagged something or put adequate warnings
> 
> in this chapter:  
> references to self harm (deadpool's, offscreen/past), fights for money, peter takes a tumble, drug use (painkillers and antipsychotics), fetal pig science experiment.
> 
> also! Chinese translation available thanks to Vanessa_Spideyyyy !
> 
> http://jack-woods.lofter.com/post/1efba321_eec0c0df

“-are you gonna stick with debate team this year? Or maybe we should do robotics team? Or Science Olympiads? Have you found an SAT tutor yet?“

Peter steps out of Delmar’s Deli-Grocery and feels the thick July air smack him in the face; his friend Ned close on his heals. Ned knew better than to outright bring up college plans, but he was circling the subject and getting dangerously close. Peter scans his brain for a change in conversation or a distraction, when one presents itself, smoking under the awning of a nail salon/threading parlor across the street.

He freezes, staring at the almost familiar face as Ned walked into Peter, oblivious.

“Hey, doesn’t that guy kinda look like Wade Wilson?” Peter says while he pretends to tie his shoe, casually stalling at the corner.

Ned, forgoing subtlety, shields his eyes from the sun with his hand and squints straight at the teenager’s direction. Even in the 90-degree full-humidity summer of New York, the kid was dressed in a black zip-up hoodie, black jeans, and a knit beanie pulled low over his forehead. “I guess so? That guy looks like a burn victim or something. Shit…” Maybe-Wade noticed his audience, flicked his cigarette into a green puddle, and whips around the corner so fast Peter almost misses it completely. The two boys turn back to make their way towards Aunt May’s apartment.

“Was your sister in his class? When he…yknow….”

“Jumped through the window of the biology classroom? Yeah she was his lab partner, remember?” Ned frowns at him.

Most of last year had been overshadowed by Peter’s new spider-related changes, but he hadn’t told Ned any of that. He still wasn’t sure if he should. Consequently, between staying on top of his classes and prowling the city at night looking for crime and falling off fire escapes, he had been a pretty shit friend to Ned and was spending the summer (during the day, at least) making it up to him. 

Peter struggles to remember anything about Wade besides his broad shoulders and brief time on the football team.

“One day he’s Mr. football and dick jokes,” Ned continues, “the next he’s hearing voices and seeing devils… scary stuff, man,”

Ned relays more exaggerated stories about Wade’s psychotic break and year in absence until they get to Peter’s street.

“You wanna stay for dinner? Aunt May won’t mind,”

Ned declines, but they agree to meet the next day to work through a few SAT subject test books inherited from Ned’s older sisters, and accidentally on purpose marathon Star Wars.

+

Peter lets his legs swing over the side of the roof, while he digs into his web shooter with a screwdriver from his pocketknife keychain. His invention had a habit of jamming while he was mid-swing between buildings, at least six stories off the ground. This time, he thankfully still held his last web and didn’t fall into oncoming traffic, but he had swung back into a brick apartment complex at full speed as a result. Winded, embarrassed, and fairly bruised, he climbed up the side of the building where he sat now, in fucking Red Hook if you could believe it, trying to fix his ride home. One of the chambers in the web shooter clicks down and the trapped web shoots out and lands over a satellite two roofs over. _Oh thank god_. He stands and stretches, trying to reorient himself back to Queens. He weighs the potential dangers between swinging home on a unreliable web shooter and hitching a ride on the back of what he could only hope was the right train, and that he wouldn’t have to switch trains because _fucking Red Hook_.

He was about to take an experimental swing when he hears people shouting a few blocks away. His spidey sense isn’t stinging the back of his neck, but it definitely tickles a little. He hops from building to building, not fully trusting his own tech at the moment, and stops when he sees the small crowd in an old shipyard. A few car headlights illuminate two people beating the living daylights out of each other for the circle of enthusiastic spectators around them. The man in red is clearly better than the man in the blue tracksuit. He lands more hits than he takes, and in less than a minute the man in blue is on his back. Peter had been creeping down the side of the building, ready to get involved, just as the man in red leans down, pulls the man to his feet and does the bro-hug. Peter inches down further to see better, and notices envelopes handed to each man. They both wear masks: the red suit guy sports a red balaclava with little devil horns sewn on, the man in the blue tracksuit wears a foam George Bush mask. Devil stuffs his (larger) envelope into his back pocket, shakes George Bush’s hand again, and shoves through the crowd.

Devil walks closer, and Peter’s eyes slide over the muscles now visibly tugging at the athletic mesh of his outfit. This dude is freakin’ _jacked_. Peter shakes his head to stop his gaze from traveling too low. He retreats back up the building, shoots a web to the next block and jumps, grateful for the cool air chilling the blush creeping up his neck.

+

Wade is fucking pissed. Althea just _had_ to tell social services that he came back and now he’s back in another fucking system, at the mercy of more lazy bureaucrats who don’t give a shit if he goes back to the same school that sent him to a carny’s idea of a mental health institution in 1934. He hadn’t even planned on staying with Blind Al, he was just supposed to grab his stuff and leave the whole state, but it turns out he’s as good at sneaking around as Althea is at finding socks that match. After Weapon X: Asylum Edition, he had no intention of sitting in a classroom and pretending to learn US History. But he sleeps better with Jeopardy humming from Blind Al’s room and her old lady smell everywhere. So maybe he’ll stick around for a bit longer.

He slips off his masturbating shoes (crocs), laces up his murder shoes (steel toed boots) and swallows a few loose pills from the bowl on his dresser. Maybe he’ll knock a few pedophiles’ teeth in tonight to let loose and get a little extra cash. He’ll need it after his second first day of junior year.

“See ya later, GamGam!” he calls to Blind Al as he heads out the door.

“Suck my fucking dick, Wade” She anchors him more than all the anti-psychotics and painkillers he amassed; he feels as close to love for as he can.

The boxes get louder the closer he gets to school; White lists multiple ways to burn the whole building down, while Yellow, shifting into all caps, gives an in-depth analysis on why he deserves to burn with it. “So you guys have first day jitters, too?” he grumbles back.

He makes it halfway through first period English. It’s cigarette o’clock anyway.

Anyway

anyway anyway anyway anyway

+

Wade slips back in after lunch, now that the brick-sized dent he left in his head popped back into place, the new scar stinging warmly behind his ear. He checks his pockets for anything to take the edge off, but all he finds is a few Hello Kitty band-aids. His new lab partner is about to have a really shitty first day, too.

“Thanks for joining us, Mr. Wilson. You’re up here with Mr. Parker,” the dildo with a master’s degree tells him.

Wade’s sitting at a front row table with this cute kid with a real deer-in-the-headlights look, Tom Holland style. The fetal pig between them is one hell of an icebreaker. Peter is looking greener by the minute and the formaldehyde isn’t doing much for Wade either. Peter’s hand tremors as he moves to make the first cut and hesitates.

“S-sorry, I’m usually pretty good at Biology…”

“S’okay, beansprout, looks like biology’s done pretty well for you this far” Wade tugs the scalpel out of his hand and earns a shaky chuckle from his lab partner. “Also this thing smells like a fart and industrial grade bleach had a baby,” Peter’s laugh is a little firmer this time. Wade decides this is one of the better noises in the world.

They take turns pulling grey organs out of the carcass. Peter, unsurprisingly, is much smarter than Wade and takes the lead; Wade only steps in when Peter shows signs he might gag. They use the Hello Kitty Band-Aids to tape their noses shut. Wade makes it through the whole period this time.

Other students in the hallway walk in wide circles to avoid them, and in this moment, Wade doesn’t care too much.

“H-hey, I um, I don’t know i-if you’d be interest- or I mean not that-that-“ a blush floods Peter’s neck, ears, and creeps steadily over his cheeks.

“Spit it out, buttercup, are you asking me on a date?”

“NO! No, not that you’re not… uh.. oh boy,” Peter resembles a very skinny tomato now. “No, I mean me and Ned, you know my friend Ned? Well we usually study in the library after school if-if you want to join, its kinda fun? Or it’s more fun than studying alone-“

“Relax, baby boy, I’d love- oh shit,” Wade feels his burner phone buzzing out of his pocket with a real mess from Althea: _wade please grab milk eggs marble bros and prescription on your way home ok send send send the fucking text you piece of shit oh I just press the button ok send._ “I gotta grab some stuff for Blind Al. Damn. Next time, alright, hot stuff?” He claps Peter on the shoulder and hears him mumble “blind….al….” faintly as Wade turns and heads down the front steps.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter we have: a lot of punching and blood, mention of That homophobic slur, but we dont say it, the boys get hurt and then they comfort, very very very minor character death, offscreen sorta, revenge porn mention in here

Peter is mid-swing when his web detaches. He feels his pulse throb under his jaw as he frantically shoots more sinewy fluid at brick, fire escape, window, anything. Instead of tethering his web shooter to the nearest structure, the webs shoot out like bullets and he feels his momentum give and gravity take hold. He falls three stories before bouncing off the lid of a dumpster and landing roughly in a damp alley on his side.

He rolls onto his back and tenses at the needling pain coming from his definitely fractured ribs. He’s such a fucking idiot. He had felt the sting of his spidey sense a good three seconds before his web failed and just assumed it was from the raised voices a block over. He dimly registers the wet feeling at the back of his head and hopes that it’s garbage water and not blood.

His spidey sense gradually asserts itself through his full-body pain. Peter wrenches himself up, fighting through the spasms pulling at his bones. He climbs up the wall of the alley he landed in, one arm wrapped tightly against his ribcage. Once on the roof, he closes his eyes and focuses on the sounds from the city. The voices still arguing is a ‘hot or not’ fight between two men. Gross, but probably not the reason his spidey sense is burning a hole in his skin. After pushing past a dog barking and rumbling car engines nearby, Peter hears the sound of a safety click and the phrase _I don’t have any money please don’t hurt-_ , two buildings up and one to the left.

He starts jumping from rooftop to rooftop, almost blacking out on the first landing. He spots the two in a dark alley between what smells like two butcher shops. He crawls down the side of the building, adrenaline buzzing in his fingertips. A taller man in a Yankees baseball cap has a gun pointed at an old grandpa. Peter softly kisses his lucky left web shooter (80% more reliable than shitty shitty right) and sends a web to snatch the gun.

Lucky Left hits the mark and he tugs the gun out of the owner’s hand, sticking it to the side of the building out of reach. Peter drops down to the street behind Yankees Cap and kicks his knees forward and shoves him sideways away from the old man. Grandpa gets the right idea and scuttles out of the alley as fast as his old legs allow.

In the split second he spared to ensure his safe retreat, the criminal clocks Peter right on the jaw. The guy lands another punch right on Peter’s tender ribs and he falls back, crippled. The criminal straddles him and Peter sees black as fists land on his left eye, chin, neck, sternum. He finally manages to web over the guys face and knees him hard enough in the dick to rupture one or two things. Peter shoves him off his chest against the rotting meat filled dumpster and webs him there.

He staggers out of the alley, looking for a payphone to call the cops to scrape this guy off the streets, only to realize he doesn’t have any quarters. “what the fuck,” he whispers to himself, “how am I so bad at this…” he leaves a note instead.

_Dear Police, plz put this guy in jail. Armed robbery. Sry I didn’t call. Love spiderman_

+

“ _Man Found Dead Glued to a Dumpster: George Bianchi was found at 3:30 this morning in South Queens with a shattered pelvis and broken spinal cord, attached to a dumpster with a viscous glue compound (see photo below)…_ ” Wade stares at the grainy picture of the body wedged into the side of the caved in metal, covered in what looks like silly string. “Yikes.” Wade closes the browser window and checks his watch. His mark should be coming home in less than a minute. He hops up, stretches his arms and cracks his neck, bracing himself for a nice uneven fight. He double clicks on the desktop folder labeled ‘pics’ as the door unlocks then closes shut. 

“Hi Jason, I think we should talk”

Jason jumps a foot in the air before looking between Wade in his sharp new Kevlar mask, and the very incriminating folder of nudes open on Jason’s computer.

“W-whats going on, man, who are you? How’d you get in here?” Jason is a small sad idiot with blond hair shaved on the sides in the ‘hitler youth’ fashion.

“Well, butt plug, a little birdy told me that you have a serious revenge porn problem.” Wade closes in on Jason, angling him away from the door and into the corner of the room. “I find it pretty disgusting that, legally, what you do is barely considered copyright infringement in the eyes of the law, never mind exploitation and sexual harassment.” Wade lifts him off the floor by his letterman jacket. “Amy and Vivian thought so too, so they started a little kickstarter, and it got a LOT of support lemme tell ya… they’re paying me 15 _thousand dollars_ to beat the teeth out of your head, can you believe it? Honestly, I felt kinda bad taking the money, but a guy’s gotta eat right? Well, I’ll be trashing your computer and hard drive for free, I’m not a _total_ monster… unlike you,” He slams Jason against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him and lets him crumple to the floor. “So, just so we’re clear, you’re not gonna be uploading any more naked pictures ever, did I mention that already? That’s sorta the whole point of all this… if you do, I’m gonna kill ya!” Wade chuckles and steps on his fingers.

Four or five hits later, Jason spits out his first tooth.

“When I say ‘revenge porn’, you say ‘bad!’ Revenge porn!” Wade leans in expectantly.

“The pictures are easy money…” Jason gurgles, blood trickling down his chin. “I probably make more a month than you do,”

“Oh-em-gee,” Wade leans back, genuinely shocked. “What are you, a cartoon villain?” He gets in a few hard hits to the gut before pressing his forehead against Jason’s. “I feel like I haven’t made myself clear.” Wade’s voice is low and gravely, dripping with aggression.

Two hours later, Jason is passed out on the floor, swollen and bloody. Wade whistles merrily to the tune “Elmo’s World” as he attacks Jason’s computer with a rusty hammer and maple syrup. He wipes the phone data too, just to be thorough before dropping it in the toilet. Wade lands an extra kick to Jason’s head on his way out the window.

+

Peter shifts uncomfortably in his chair, the concealer on his bruised face making his skin feal heavy and sticky under the fluorescent lights. Wade slides in next to him, 20 minutes late as usual.

“Good weekend, buttercup?” Wade asks cheerily. Peter makes a noncommittal ‘meh’ sound in response, and passes him the assignment for the day. “Aww cmon, what’d you get up to? Talk to me, goose,” He nudges peter in the side, and he reflexively inhales at the elbow pressing against his still healing ribs. Wade draws back instantly, the smile sliding off his face. “You ok? I-I hope I didn’t hurt you I didn’t mean-“ Wade’s voice is soft and gentle, the scars tugging between his eyebrows in emotion.

“Whaaa- haha no I'm just ticklish, really” Wade looks like Peter is trying to sell him bullshit for $40. “You’re good its no big deal cmon lets do this uhhh substance indicator test,” Peter hands Wade a pair of nitrate gloves and a few plastic cups of liquids, desperate to change the subject as fast as possible. Wade holds his gaze for a second then slips on the gloves without comment.

Wade slowly starts to joke around as they run through testing different liquids for lipids and carbs, but is very careful with Peter after that, never touching anywhere but his hands by accident. It looks like a difficult feat, because by the time they get to testing the fluids for proteins, Wade is literally sitting on his hands.

Peter stirs the Biuret into what he’s pretty sure by now is the sugar water, and his hand slips from laughing at Wade’s story about the time he and Blind Al went to Ikea and nearly killed each other. A few drops splatter his cheek and drip down his chin.

“Oh shit- I think I got some on me. Be right back,” Peter mumbles quickly and heads down the hall toward the bathroom. He nervously pats his back pocket where the tiny bottle of concealer is hidden as he turns into the men’s room.

The bathroom is thankfully empty so Peter wastes no time in frantically scrubbing his face in the sink with the cheap disinfecting soap. He rakes the sandy paper towel over his cheeks and stares at the blotchy yellow and purple mess that reflects back at him in the mirror. He heals fast, but not fast enough, clearly. He sighs, pulls out the concealer, and gets to work caking that shit on to cover his black eye. He didn’t even get halfway done when he hears Wade’s voice. 

“Hey Petey-Pie I forgot what we were supposed to be doing and frankly I'm lost without you so I was gonna-“ He stops dead in the doorway, staring at Peter, eyes flicking from the bruises on his face to the makeup in his hand. Peter curses. This is not going to go well.

Wade always carries himself gently and without aggression, but there’s no denying the approximate 200+ pounds of pure muscle on the guy, and if the scars spiderwebbing across his face like a busted china doll is anything to go by, he’s no stranger to fights. And he just walked in on Peter beating his face like a fucking twink. And Peter isn’t exactly in peak condition right now. And he’d have to pull his punches so as not to give away any more secrets. And Wade has a very funny look on his face. So.

“This… this isn’t what it looks like I swear,” Peter squeaks out. “This- its not- I-“ Doing great, Parker, really.

Suddenly Wade is inches away, gently tipping his chin up and to the side. “Who did this to you, Peter,” His voice is low and serious, all the usual levity long gone. He runs a scabbed thumb over Peter’s cheekbone and swallows.

Peter blinks quickly, blindsided by this entire chain of events. No fights, no nasty words, just a suspiciously serious Wade. “…not what you think…” his mouth says but his voice fucking gave up. Wade takes the concealer and picks up where Peter left off, drawing stripes over the bruises and blending it out with his ring finger delicately. Peter’s brain has officially gone offline.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it, I understand, I really do. But. I just want you to know I have your back. And if you want… if you want to tell me who did this, I can do them one better,” Wade speaks softly, the emotion heavy in his voice. “No one kicks around my baby boy and lives to tell the tale,” he halfheartedly jokes.

It takes a minute too long for Peter’s stupid brain to wake up and realize that the tickling feeling at the back of his neck isn’t from Wade’s hand cradling his head. It’s the feeling that means danger, and that feeling at school means one person. Flash. It kinda breaks his heart that his senses think falling 15 stories and some 16 year old earn the same amount of anticipatory fear.

So Flash walks in and sees Wade Wilson painting Peter Parker’s face like its drag night, and Flash, in his infinite wisdom, says the first word that pops into his head. The word that Peter had been bracing himself for the second he had been interrupted the first time. The word that he had been bracing himself for the second he realized what his complicated feelings about Captain America meant. And Flash just _says it_. Out loud.

So, Wade turns to Flash and hits him so hard Peter’s pretty sure he passed out on impact. And Wade is really wailing on him, all bared teeth and bloody knuckles. He’s breathing raggedly and choking on what might be tears. Peter pulls him back off Flash and drags him down to sit against the bathroom wall. He still has his arms around Wade so he doesn’t crawl back and _damn_ this guy is strong. Peter feels Wade’s muscles finally slacken a little and his head falls to rest on Peter’s shoulder. Peter holds him tight and rubs circles on his back, recognizing the panic attack for what it is. Wade trembles violently when he cries then breaths hoarsely when it passes. Peter mumbles nonsense in his ears, trying to ground him and help him feel safe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter: wade post disassociation, a drug deal, wade thinking negative things about himself, mentions of violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this chapter is so short, im trying to set up some sort of schedule for updating but i have no self control! lmk what yall think lol

Wade resurfaces when his phone rings. He’s somewhere in South Queens probably, and the last thing he remembers is that 2-minute-wonder speaking, but Yellow and White’s voices coming from his mouth, saying that word that they scream in his ear every night when he tries to sleep. Now, he’s in his fuck-em-up suit outside a warehouse and “Plug” is calling him.

“Deadpool” he drawls, letting his defense mechanism slide into place.

“Don’t take that fuckin tone with me, kid, not when I’m the one doin you a favor. Are you here or not?” It isn’t his usual Kevin speaking; its supposed to be Kevin. This sounds like Rick. They’re both listed in his phone as “Plug”.

“Yeah, yeah, 183rd off Jamaica, right?” Wade walks behind the ‘auto shop’, things clicking into place a little slower than they should be.

Rick is leaning against a grey Toyota Camry that has seen better days in the 90s, all of 5’2”, buzzcut, and unresolved sexual frustration. If you call him a “mean little Italian” he’ll tackle you. Not that Wade would know.

“You got a lotta nerve calling me for a hookup,” Rick tilts his chin up to flex the tendons in his neck and look all tough n shit. Like a fuckin peacock, this dude. “Lucky for you the boss has been doing a lot of _acquisitions_ lately,”

“Well that’s ominous. $250 for both right?” Wrap it up, dude. Not interested in the big picture. Just the drugs.

“Nah. $400. Gotta pay the taxman, right?” shit.

Wade reaches into one of his pockets for the cash roll and counts it, knowing damn well he’s 100 short. Option 1: knock out Rick and steal the drugs, leave what cash he has since he’s not a total tool. Either way, that ends with goonies knocking on Althea’s door, prowling around like starving cats. Not gonna happen. Option 2: Barter. Everybody hates talking to Wade, including Rick, so that would most likely end in a price increase rather than decrease. Next. Option 3: Have a debt. And all the fucking baggage that comes with owing money to an uncomfortably large crime organization. Why the _fuck_ did he have to call Rick. Wade’s brain started to screech and White and Yellow decided now would be a great time to share their violent opinions, so coherent thought seemed to be done for the day. He needed his pills fucking _now_.

“Alright,” Wade grunts, “How you feel about 350 now and another tomorrow or some shit” This is all so fucking STUPID the damn pills are not that much this is so fucking dumb why is your brain so fucking useless all the time other people don’t have to do fucking backwater drug deals just so they stop vibrating out of their skin and

“Tell ya what, we can have a little trade. You pop on down to this address, knock some heads together and we’ll call it even, yeah?”

“C-can… Can I have some of the pills first” Stupid, fucking stupid, never show weakness like that what the fuck is wrong with you

“Suuure! Of course. Take half, call it a down payment,” Rick hands him two smaller baggies with a dozen pills in each and the address with a few head-knocking details scribbled on the back of half a cvs receipt stapled together.

“Deal,” Wade dry swallows two of each pill on the spot and turns to leave.

“See you in three,” Rick calls to his retreating back, his voice echoing in the parking lot.


End file.
